Ask No Questions
by Tsume Yuki
Summary: Getting adopted wasn't on Tom's to-do list, especially getting adopted by a man with an odd lightning bolt scar. Time-travel wasn't on Harry's agenda, specifically time-travel that sent him sixty years into the past. Time-travel, no slash.
1. Prologue

**Ask No Questions  
_hear no lies_**

* * *

**Prologue  
17****th**** July 1939**

"Tom, there's someone here to see you."

From where he'd been leaning over his desk, scribbling about the different potions ingredients that he'd be experimenting with come September, Tom Marvolo Riddle sat up straight as he was addressed.  
The matron of Wool's orphanage, Mrs Cole, was stood beside the door to his room, as if hesitant to cross the threshold.  
From where he was sat, Tom twisted around to look at the woman, eyes narrowed in confusion. Pushing one lock of dark, half wavy hair back from his face, the student tilted his head to a side questioning.

"Someone, is here to see me?"

The last -and the first- person that'd ever visited him in the orphanage was Dumbledore. He knew that it was unlikely the man had returned to come and talk to him about school when he'd yet to receive his second year acceptance letter. It made him somewhat nervous, waiting for the confirmation, but if the way his head of house had acted was any indication, he was one of the best students they'd had in a very long time.  
They wouldn't kick him out.

"Yes, come along."

.

Walking along the cold corridors of the orphanage, Tom listened to the sharp echo of their footsteps, so unlike the acoustics of Hogwarts. He deary missed the castle; it wouldn't be until third year that he could apply to stay there over summer too. Apparently, he was too young to make the decision right now. It burned inside of him, but it was only a matter of time. He'd survived in this filthy muggle world for twelve years, he could manage one more.

Mrs Cole was leading him through a collection of corridors he'd rarely been to, and Tom instantly fell suspicious.  
The few times he'd been here, he'd been much younger. Back when the other children didn't flee at the sight of him, back when the orphanage workers still thought he could be adopted by a family.  
He was being led to where future 'parents' could me prospective children.

"Why are you taking me here?" Tom ground out, looking up at the matron and scowling as he did so. Mrs Cole, with her harassed looking features, stared down at Tom for a second before sighing.

"Just go and talk to him for a little bit Tom."  
One gentle hand on his back, she pushed him towards the door, not really giving him much of an option for escape.  
Using magic would get him kicked out of Hogwarts, and that was by far the last thing on his agenda. Anyway, as far as he knew, filthy muggles did not adopt older children; they preferred the cute, younger ones that they could still mould into an image of themselves. So why this man wanted to get to know Tom was a mystery. But he'd play along, for now.

Pushing open the door, Tom walked into the room.

.

The first thing he noticed was the messy black hair, falling in all sorts of ways across the man's forehead, uncontrollable and wild. How he'd even got Mrs Cole to let him in looking so scruffy, he wasn't sure.  
Then, Tom took a good look at the man's clothes, so out of place in muggle London. They didn't look shabby, or washed out in any sense. In fact, they looked rather well tailored, well cared for. The man had money then. That was why Mrs Cole had let him in.

Folding his arms across his chest, Tom stood before the man, who was still slouched in the chair before him. The man had wanted to see him, there was no way he was going to be announcing his presence if that was the case. This was very clearly a waste of time.

Finally, the man looked up and Tom was met with bright green eyes, a stark contrast against the monotone of this man's pale skin and dark black hair.

"Good afternoon Tom," the man murmured, running a hand through his hair, exposing a sharp, lightning bolt shaped scar upon his forehead before patting the dark matter back down again.

"And you are?"  
The man blinked, looking neither surprised or taken aback by his abruptness.

"Harry Peverell." The man scratched at the back of his head in an awkward manner; it was clear from the way he spoke the name he wasn't used to saying it.

"I've got Potter blood as well as Peverell blood, but I can't really go by the first one right now." Grinning lightly, Harry laced his fingers together, resting them on his knees and placing his chin in his hands.

"Why do you want to talk to me?" Tom asked, frowning at the man, at Harry, who was still the picture of calm before him. Most muggles were thrown off by his approach, his harsh attitude, but this man was just sat taking it. Unless-

"You're not a muggle."  
Harry smiled at him and from his right sleeve, Tom was allowed a glimpse at the wand hidden beneath the material before the man slipped it back into a hidden holster, out of sight once again.

.

"I want to adopt you Tom." Harry finally confessed, running an uneased hand back through his hair.

"Why?"

This was suspicious.  
The man knew he was a wizard, but nothing more than that. Why did he want Tom? Was he in touch with Hogwarts?

Most importantly, the man had mentioned two pure-blood families. Most history books said that the Peverell family name had died out. Tom knew this.  
Pure-blood was everything in Slytherin; he'd spent hours researching in hopes of finding the Riddle name in a family tree, but never had he come across it. He'd given up on the idea of his father being pure-blood somewhere around Christmas and then instead focused on getting to the top of the Slytherin hierarchy the hard way.  
By being the best there was, pure-blood or not. So what was a pure-blood doing in a muggle orphanage?

Especially, what was he doing looking to adopt a half-blood, for Tom had admitted to himself in his mind he could be nothing other than that. He was not muggle-born. It wasn't possible.

"Because I know what it's like to grow up with no contact with the wizarding world, to be raised by... Inadequate muggles." Harry didn't speak with distaste for muggles in general, only for those he'd evidently been raised by. Odd, he was pure-blood was he not? So surely he'd hate muggles. Unless he was a blood-traitor...

"So, do you want to do this Tom, or not?"

* * *

**Yeah, erm... I've read a few Harry adopts Tom stories, but nowhere near enough. So, I'm going to take a crack and writing one. My favourite topic -if you've read some of my Naruto fan-fictions- is time travel, so I'm hoping I can do this some justice. **

**So, thanks for reading, the next chapter will be much longer -3800 words, I've already wrote it- and I hope you enjoy this mess I'm uploading.**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	2. Part 1-1

**Ask No Questions  
_hear no lies_**

* * *

**Part 1.1  
****18th June 1939**

He knew answering a call in the time-chamber hadn't been a good idea. He'd tried not to step foot back in there ever since the disaster of his fifth year. Why had he been stupid enough to agree to go have a look around? Why hadn't he left it to one of the other Aurors instead?

Groaning and rubbing furiously at his head, Harry opened his eyes, blinking once, twice, and then deciding his glasses were most certainly not present, because everything was a magnificent blur of colours. Pawing around on the mattress in an a attempt to find the bedside table, Harry quickly came to three conclusions.  
One, judging by the mattress beneath him and the smell in the air, he was currently in hospital.  
Two, the issue in the time-chamber must have been resolved, for he was now in hospital, so someone had to have moved him.  
And three, going by the sound of the footsteps approaching, they were aware he was awake.

Cool metal was pressed into his palm and Harry instantly recognised his glasses for what they were and he blinked several times once he'd put them back in their proper resting place atop his nose. There was a young nurse stood before him, a soft, sympathetic smile upon her face.

"Good morning sir. How are you feeling?" _Sir?_  
Harry narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing this nurse before him and then taking a good look around. He wasn't in St Mungo's, that was for sure. In fact, this almost looked like a muggle hospital.

"Fine, some water would be good," Harry murmured, watching as the muggle nurse nodded, getting to her feet and heading over to the sink on the other side of the room.

Harry watched her go with curious eyes, taking in her appearance and everything around him. It'd been a long time since he'd been to a muggle hospital, but he was pretty sure they hadn't changed this much. It looked like he'd stepped into the past.

At the thought, Harry's heart stopped, and he looked over at this nurse once more. Her hair was in the vintage half waves associated with the early nineteen hundreds, as was her uniform. Harry had a huge, sinking feeling within his stomach.

.

"Your name sir?"  
Harry blanked slightly, scrambling for a name.

"Neville Longbottom. I've been an orphan since I was one." Well, half truth it was. He'd used Neville's name before, and the muggles would most certainly not notice the pure-blood surname.

As predicted, the young nurse nodded, scribbling something down on a clipboard as she handed over his drink. Harry took a quick sip, looking around and noticing the back-pack at the bottom of the bed. At least all his things were still with him.  
Ever since his adventures of hunting down the Horcruxes, he'd taken to carrying all his possessions in a bag with him at all times. There'd been many a time since when it'd been good to have his invisibility cloak or Firebolt at hand. After all the mess with Voldermort was over, he'd gone and searched for his broom; luckily enough some small child had found it and taken it home as a prop for her Halloween costume, not knowing what it actually was. It was nice to still have a piece of Sirius close.

"Well Mr Longbottom-" It took Harry a moment to realize the nurse was addressing him. "-You may call me Nurse Rosewell, you were found passed out on Orange St, near Piccadilly Circus. I'll just need to check through a few things and then I can let you go once you've paid for your treatment."  
Right, payment. If he had to pay for hospital care, he had to have gone pretty far back in time.

"Erm, what's the date?" Harry asked, cocking his head to a side and looking questioningly up at the nurse. Rosewell smiled in a sympathetic manner, ignorant to the panic that was currently coursing through Harry's bones.

"June 18th, 1939."  
Crap. He was far back. Really far back. With no way forwards. This wasn't good. There was only one thing for it.

"Miss Rosewell?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry."

"Wha-"

"Obliviate."

* * *

He left Miss Rosewell the nurse with enough money to cover his treatment, even if he wasn't sure if the pound was in circulation yet. If it was, then he knew it'd be worth far more than the treatment he'd had. The date on the coin might confuse her though, but Harry shrugged it off. He'd paid, and he had bigger problems that paying back the hospital right now.  
Rosewell had said he'd been found outside of Piccadilly Circus in 1930's London, which meant Tom Riddle's orphanage was still going. Which meant, if the nurse's date was correct, that Tom Riddle was still around currently. Young. Not a killer yet. But still, very much disturbed for a child.  
And Harry had no idea what to do about it.

Sighing, he pulled his wand from holder under his shirt, appariting towards Gringotts. It was only when he stumbled into being before the wizard bank that he realized his vault wasn't quite his vault yet. In fact, it would probably be empty. Right now, he didn't have any parents to start a trust fund for him. Which left him with the Potter family vault, and another problem. Because he wasn't the sole Potter around right now, was he? Scowling, but already well aware he was back in the past and needed to remain inconspicuous, Harry made his way inside.

.

The marble entranceway was still very much the same, even sixty years into the past. The twenty year old took a good look around, frowning to himself as several goblins stopped to stare at him. He made his way to the front, not recognising the goblin before him.

"I'd like to open a vault."  
Goblins, from what he'd come to understand, did not like to beat around the bush, especially when it came to exchanging pleasantries or anything else of the sort. Which meant getting right down to business.

"Name?"  
Crap, he couldn't use Potter, not right now. He'd need to seek out his ancestors first and get them to accept him into their family before he did that. And he didn't want to use Evans either, because there was a slim chance his mother might come across the vault in the future, and she'd have the blood to open it. And seeing pictures of her older self married and with a son might mess up the future. Just a tiny bit.  
So, he went with the only other family he knew he was a descendent of.

"Peverell."  
Now the goblin did stop writing, looking down his large nose at Harry who just stared back up, as if daring the creature to rebuke his claim.

"Proof?"  
Sliding the back-pack off one shoulder, Harry summoned up the invisibility cloak, casting notice-me-not charms on everyone else in the room before throwing it over his shoulders.

"From the youngest brother," he murmured, nothing more than a floating head. The goblin made some form of noise in the back of his throat before standing.

"Follow me."

.

The mine-cart ride was still as jittery as he remembered, and they spiralled down and down, further than Harry had ever been before, well into four digit numbers. Further down than even the Lestrange vault he'd visited -and robbed- long ago. When they came to a stop, Harry's breath almost caught in his throat, because there above the vault before him, was the symbol of the deathly hallows.

"Been a long time," the goblin murmured as he got up, walking over to the vault door and gesturing for Harry to follow after him, "the Peverell brothers entrusted everything but the hallows to goblins, ready for a descendent to come and claim it. When Gringott built the bank, he moved it all here. Press the cloak against the door and open it."  
Harry felt himself nod dumbly, mind whirling. The Peverells had left more than just three powerful items behind. Of course they had, they were a pure-blood family, and the vault had just sat here, waiting for someone to claim the inheritance.

Pressing the silvery material of the cloak against the door, Harry jumped back at the metal gave an almighty groan, the click and clack of clogs turning back and forth eventually gave way to an opening in the door. Behind him, the nameless goblin who'd yet to introduce himself, seemed as curious as Harry himself. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry started forwards, peering into the room before reeling back in shock.

.

The amount of gold in the room was unreal. Sure, it'd gained interest since the Peverell brothers had left it behind, but even then, they had to have left a substantial amount for this to come about. There were a multitude of artefacts across the walls, wands that'd not been used for years and then some seemingly mundane things, like silver-ware.  
Harry almost dropped to his knees when he saw the pile of books stacked up in one corner. As soon as he got back to his own time, he was bringing Hermione down here. She'd love these books, which had spells probably lost for centuries within their dusty old pages. In fact, why wait to bring her down here?

Opening his bag, Harry summoned the whole pile, shrinking them down before sending them into the depths of the magically enchanted bag. He then summoned up his photo albums, putting them down in place of the books that'd been in the vault. Now, there were only three, compared to the thirty he'd taken, but they were just as important as the spell books. Gathering up a good handful of the gold, more than enough to buy a house for the duration of his stay in the past, Harry shoved that too into the bag, turning to look at the goblin.

"How much do I owe, for keeping the cell here?" He wasn't stupid, the goblins had to make money somehow, and with a cell that had this much protection, and the fact they'd kept it so long whilst they waited for an heir...

"One hundred and fifty galleons."

"Take it," Harry grumbled, gesturing to the pile as he inspected the wands upon the wall.  
Of course, the Elder wand was currently off in the hands of Grindelwald or Dumbledore, no way would it wouldn't be here. But he did need another wand. He couldn't go around using this one when it was still in Olivanders shop. He went through five before settling upon an hawthorn and phoenix feather. There was a bond there, not as strong as the bond with his wand, but at least there was a bond, unlike the first few he tried.  
He'd have to see about getting a thestral tail hair and ask Olivander if he'd make a wand out of it. Sure it wouldn't be powerful like the Elder wand, but as the elderly wand maker hand explained to him before, it'd respond well due to his acceptance of death.

"Okay, I'm done for now thank you."

.

Harry's next stop was the buy some clothes more appropriate to the time period. If there was one thing he'd learnt from Hermione, it was that he needed to research in situations such as these. Especially since time-travel was involved.  
Which meant getting access to resources, which meant gaining trust which meant blending in. Something he'd had a large problem with doing before in the future. His scar certainly wouldn't help, but now no one here would know the story behind it. That was good, because that meant no 'Boy-Who-Lived' business. Yes, all capitals now he'd defeated Voldermort.

Pushing the thought of a young Tom Riddle as far away from his mind as he could, Harry forced himself to focus. Next stop, finding someone to confine in.

And with a soft pop signalling apperation, he was gone.

* * *

**20****th**** June 1939**

Stood on the outskirts of the Potter grounds, Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to focus on the sights and sounds around him, instead of the distressing news that Dumbledore had given him. Of course he was going to put his trust into that man; he was brilliant and did what was best for the world. Not to say that his information had been what Harry had wanted to hear. That there was no magic to go forwards in time.

.

"_What do you mean? But, but I've time-travelled before; with a time-turner!" Before him, the auburn head of hair was pressed down by its owner and Dumbledore grimaced from behind his desk. _

_It was currently the start of the summer holidays, and every student had gone home. Dumbledore himself had been in the process of packing, no doubt to head off to help in the wizard war effort himself, when Harry had come barrelling in. He'd quickly explained all that had happened to him as soon as Dumbledore had permitted him to sit down, leaving out key-details and identities that could destroy time-lines.  
And yet, if what Dumbledore was saying was correct, he'd already blow it up anyway. _

"_When you used the time-turner Harry, you were not changing the past, because you'd already saved yourself to be present to go back into the past. You weren't the 'first Harry', as it were, to go back. You were, shall we say, loop Harry. The first Harry to go back would have had to save both himself and your godfather from the Dementors, as your godfather would have gotten the kiss had you not been present. Do you understand?"  
He sort of did, but that meant he was the first Harry to arrive here, because he could still remember everything that went on before. _

"_Just by meeting with the people you already have, you've gone on to influence their decisions in life in the smallest of ways, Subsequently, there is no future time-line for you to return to. That's the odd thing about time-travel, you're not really going back, just moving the present."_

.

Harry didn't like it, not one bit. But Dumbledore had seemed so sure. The old man had still promised him help, and had recommended he go out and make some allies to get some resources himself. Which was why he was currently stood outside Potter grounds.  
Dumbledore had told him they had some form of potion to test for Potter blood, so he'd be welcomed into the herd. His current surname, the one he'd claimed, would also give him a rather nice standing too. Of course it would, anything relating to legends now was considered to be of high standing.

He'd already come up with an excuse as to why he had the same invisibility cloak that the current Potter head would have. The youngest Peverell had cut his original in half, in order to give both his sons it. This wasn't carried on, because if the cloak was halved again, it wouldn't cover a person right. Hence, Harry's possession of the cloak. It was the only excuse both he and Dumbledore had agreed on.

And in an attempt to not ruin the future, he'd be going by a cover story of half-truths. There had been another dark lord, waiting for Grindelwald to weaken the Ministry before he rose to fight himself. He started on his plans for immortality and made Horcruxes. Harry's parents tried to stop him, and died, and Harry ended up a Horcrux.  
Events pretty much play out the same from there, with Harry defeating and destroying the Horcruxes before his eighteenth. And then, he'd come out of hiding to search for his distant family now that everyone he knew had died in battle.

Harry didn't like lying -Hermione and Ron and the rest weren't dead, even if they weren't alive either- but it seemed necessary. With any luck, Dumbledore would be able to find some books that could prove his theory wrong.  
They'd agreed to meet up in two days before he left to fight, in order to test these theories.

.

Shuffling from foot to foot in front of the grand manor house before him, Harry gulped. This would be the first time he was meeting blood family, magically blood family, in the flesh. Even if they didn't realize how closely related they were.

Stepping onto the grounds, Harry was sure that some warning ward had gone off somewhere, and he double checked to make sure he had the borrowed Peverell wand on his person. And on cue, someone began approaching from the manor, and Harry had to suck in a breath because god, did they look the same. Everything but the eyes, and the absence of the glasses.

The other boy looked to be the same age as Harry, and seemed just as shocked at his appearance.

"Who're you?" They had about the same levels of tack as well.

"Harry Peverell," holding out his hand, Harry looked up into the shocked blue eyes that were most certainly not his fathers. An uncle to him perhaps? That'd make him Harry's great uncle then.

"Huh, oh. Yeah, Charlus Potter." Oh yeah, this guy was on the Black family tree. He'd marry some girl from the Black family soon enough.

"So, what brings you here?"

.

Charlus had led him into the main house, saying that his older brother, one George Potter, would be returning shortly. He accepted Harry's story of being a fellow descendent of the Peverell brother, and that his family had gone into hiding in order to keep their half of the cloak, not wanting to risk losing it. And now, as the last one of that family line, he'd come to seek out the rest of his family.

Charlus was halfway through explaining the blood test when the fire roared with green flames. A man stepped through then, who looked so much like his father that Harry had to force his legs to lock and not send him forwards towards him. The man, who could be no other than George Potter, looked to be about twenty five, and had a woman, perhaps a year or so younger, with him. His grandmother. Harry felt a bit sick that he didn't even know her name, but she definitely had his father's eyes.

"Oh. George dear?" The woman pointed coyly over to them and George blinked form behind his glasses, looking over at Harry and doing a spectacular impression of gaping like a fish.

"By god, it's almost like looking in a mirror," he whispered, making his way over in a cautious fashion. And so Harry found himself sat up to table, repeating his tale as Charlus took a sample of blood, dropping it into the potion and nodding his head along.

"He's got our blood, a bit, erm, murky though..." Charlus murmured, shaking the potion vial as if to be sure the results were right. Harry blinked, remembering back to what he'd traced of his mother's family tree before he grinned sheepishly.

"Oh, yeah. My mother was muggle-born, but somewhere in her ancestry is a squib from Gryffindor's line."  
George nodded in an approving manner, and though the woman beside George didn't seem sure about welcoming him into the fold, his grandfather seemed to have no problem.

"Well then, welcome to the Potter family, Harry. I assume you'd like to keep your last name?"  
Here it was, his chance to get his name back. He faltered slightly though, because having one Harry Potter in the family might ruin his future existence.

"Thanks, but I think I'll keep the Peverell name alive." _So to speak_.  
Both George and Charlus seemed happy enough with this, and the former went on to introduce his lovely wife, one Alice Potter. Alice was pretty enough, with long blonde hair her son would not get, but the hazel eyes he would.

"You can pick a house outside if you'd like Harry, there used to be quite a lot of us Potters but we seemed to have dwindled... Just don't touch the one with the apple tree. That one's mine... That is, if you've got the gold for it? If not we can-"

"I've got the gold."

.

The prospect of owning a house was very daunting.

Sitting down on the stone wall before the cottage he'd might, at some point, come to call home, Harry began to wonder just what the hell was going on now. One day he'd been going through Auror training, the next he was sixty years into the past, discussing family relations with his grandfather.

Shaking his head, Harry stood up and made his way down the little stone path, frowning at the grass. It was neatly trimmed; he could already tell there were wards all over the house, and there were obviously a house-elf or two that were keeping the grounds in good condition. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that.  
Compared to the manor, the cottage was a modest thing, three bedrooms and a bathroom on the upper floor, a large sitting room, dining room, kitchen and library on the bottom floor. It suited Harry's tastes perfectly, without reminding him too much of the cottage his parents had owned.

.

It was only once he was inside that he allowed himself to begin to relax, rolling his shoulders back and dropping his backpack onto the floor beside the door. He was in the past, stuck in the past if what Dumbledore had said was anything to go by. And suddenly, his mind was spinning.

Would it be possible for him to change the future for the better? All he had to do was stop Voldermort from happening, and so much could go so right. His parents would live, Sirius wouldn't go to prison, because there'd be no reason for Pettigrew to frame him with no dark lord. Severus wouldn't have to risk his life, Dumbledore wouldn't have to die. Neville could get his parents.  
God, this was why he hadn't wanted to stop, to be allowed time to think. He wanted desperately to get back to the future, to get back to his friends. But, by staying here, by changing the past, he could give them a better future. Ron could have his brother back, the twins would never be broken up, Ginny would never lose one of her elder brothers if there was no war to fight in.

The possibilities, they were all there. All he'd need to do was stop Voldermort. Which could be done through killing him before he got strong... Or by changing Riddle completely.

Shaking his head, Harry turned back to the empty house, biting his lip. He'd give Dumbledore and himself two weeks. If they couldn't come up with anything to get him back to the future, then he'd remain here.

Just another sacrifice to make sure the world was a better place.

* * *

**Wow, I was honestly not expecting so many alerts, favourites and reviews for that little prologue. Thank you.****  
**

**So, a little back-story on Harry's journey into the past, why he chose the Peverell name to go by and what became of that. I hope my explanation of Dumbledore's theory was okay, it seems all right in my head, but reading it through, I'm not sure. Not that Dumbledore would know much himself, seeing as Harry is the first long distance time-traveller he's come across. Anyway, I'll be getting back to Tom in the next chapter, which isn't wrote up yet. **

**So, thank you for reading and reviewing,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	3. Part 2-1

**Ask No Questions  
_hear no lies_**

* * *

**Part 2.1  
****18th July 1939**

Tom Marvolo Riddle was struggling. He was struggling to comprehend the situation he had currently found himself in, and that was something he was not used to. He'd always been in control. Whether it was of the other orphans, his magic, or of how his social interactions went as Hogwarts, he'd fought and always found himself in control. And right now, he was scrambling. For a foot hold or a grasp on the situation and he couldn't find any.

Harry Peverell had left just an hour after meeting him, and Tom was in the process of scanning through the few books he did have on blood-lines and family histories in an attempt to brace himself. Because he'd agreed. At the time it'd made sense. It was an instant boost in the Slytherin social pit if he could tag Peverell onto his name, and the family would certainly have books and heirlooms and history no one else would have access to. The good points had been all he'd been able to see.

But now that he sat back, Tom's insides chilled a little. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. How did pure-blood families work? Since when did they adopt, even when they sympathized with his situation? What would be expected of him? He'd signed up for a game, but it was only now he realized he had no idea how to play.

"Tom? Have you packed?"  
Pausing in his skipping of the pages, Tom adjusted the book on his leg to make sure Mrs Cole wouldn't be able to read the title.

"Yes, I'm ready."

"Good, because Mr Peverell is here."

One hand on the handle of his trunk, Tom dragged it along behind him as he made his way down the corridors, determined to keep an aura of smugness about him in front of all the other nosy, whispering orphans. He knew what they were thinking; how did Tom get adopted? He was a freak. Didn't his future guardian know he hurt people?  
Well, the joke was on them, because Harry Peverell was just like him.

Sneering at one of the other orphans that'd bullied him as a child, Tom followed after Mrs Cole, making sure not to catch his trunk on the sharp corners they were turning throughout the building.

.

Upon arrival at the steps, Tom stopped slightly, turning this way and that as he looked around. He couldn't see his future guardian anywhere, and he gritted his teeth. This wasn't a joke was it? Because if it was then-

"Ah, Mr Peverell!" Mrs Cole had turned on heel and the man from yesterday, Harry, was making his way over, a collection of papers in his hand. Oh, he'd been signing his adoption papers. He'd let him off then.

It was only when Harry stepped into the light, that Tom came the sudden realization that Harry was young. Much younger than he'd thought he'd be. In the lack of light within the orphanage meeting rooms, Tom was sure by the way he acted and presented himself, he was older, at least in his late twenties.

Right now, stood in front of him, Harry couldn't be any older than twenty. Hell, if you ignored the look in his eyes, he could have been fresh out of Hogwarts.

But that was just it, the look in his eyes. Tom had seen soldiers from WWI, some that'd come in with their wives to adopt a brat because they couldn't have one of their own. He could remember the horror in their eyes, that they'd seen far too much of the world already. That's what Harry's eyes had. He'd seen death, faced it and was still here. He was too young to have fought in WWI, so did that mean he'd been off on the front lines against Grindelwald? It was the only explanation that Tom could scramble for.

.

"Hey Tom," Harry offered one half of the papers in his hand to Mrs Cole, who after a quick scan of them nodded, gave Tom a rather curt goodbye before disappearing off inside.

"I still don't understand why you wanted to adopt me," Tom crossed his arms as he spoke, trunk leaning against his leg as he looked up to Harry for answers. The young adult looked down at him before sheepishly rubbing at the back of his head.

"I guess we'll cover that at a later date.. Erm, Wheezy?"  
There was a loud crack from beside them and Tom leapt half a foot in the air, turning to see the small creature that'd appeared at Harry's call. A house elf. He'd only seen the lot of them once, back when he went searching for Hogwarts kitchen, so he'd always know where to find food. And he knew from the way that the pure-blooded Slytherins spoke that all the old families had a house elf or two. So, Harry was without a doubt a Peverell descendent...

"Mr Harry, Wheezy is pleased to be of service." Bowing, the little creature looked up at Harry, and then Tom noticed just what was different with this house-elf. This Wheezy was wearing clothes, sock's gloves and a hat. She was a free elf? But then, why was she serving Harry?

"Could you take Tom's trunk back to the house? We'll be home later."

"Of course Mr Harry, I is happy to help." And with another crack, Tom's trunk and the house elf was gone.  
Running a hand through his hair, Harry sighed again, looking down at Tom and offering a light smile.

"Erm, we're gonna drop by Gringotts, I've got a few things to sort out, okay?"  
Tom nodded slowly, watching as Harry offered his arm. Side-long apperation then. Cautiously, Tom accepted the limb, and with a twist of heels, they were gone.

* * *

Landing on the cobblestones outside of the great goblin bank, Tom forcibly pulled his stomach in, determined not to throw up in front of a good portion of the wizarding world. Harry also looked a little woozy, but shook his head about a bit and seemed to leave the feeling behind.

"Have you got a bank account open yet Tom?"

"No."  
Harry frowned a bit before nodding, gesturing for Tom to follow in after him. Something which Tom did in a hesitant manner. He was still looking for solid ground to stand on when it came to this man, and he currently had nothing, nothing of note that could give him a sure reading on Harry's behaviour, other than the fact he wasn't very open. But that could be down to a number of things. It'd be best to gather some more data instead of just diving straight in.

Harry was already striding along, and by the time Tom caught up to him, he was already halfway through his explanation. The goblin he was speaking to seemed to be less annoyed than when he'd seen one of their kind talk to any other wizard, which was admittedly strange. It was almost as if this goblin had some form of -dare he say it?- respect towards Harry.

"-and I want to open an account in the seven hundreds for, erm... Tom?"  
Looking up as he was addressed, Tom raised a brow at Harry, waiting for him to carry on with his questions.

"What last name do you want to use?"

"Riddle-Peverell." There, a much more respectable last name as far as Tom was concerned. That was another foot in the Slytherin hierarchy, somewhere near the top too. Harry hummed slightly, looking up at the goblin and shrugging.

"Follow me."

.

The ride on the mine cart was stomach churning, and Tom was least impressed when he learned how far down they were. Suddenly, the fact Gringotts had never been robbed made a lot more sense. They were hundreds of vaults down; he was sure they'd passed one or two with a dragon outside guarding it. And yet, this one so far down into the bank, had little to no protection as far as he could see. Harry, who was shrugging his backpack from his shoulder blades, was stood before the numberless door, reaching into his pack to get something.  
Tom took careful note of the symbol above the door before turning back to Harry in time to see him press some form of silvery material against the door. And then movement. So, it was a specific item instead of a key to get in? At least, all the way down in these vaults it appeared so.

The grand doors groaned, as if they hadn't been used in a while before they gave way to the vault. And gold, more gold then Tom had ever seen in his life, was presented before him. There were wands across one side of the wall, historical looking artefacts scattered about, but the room was mostly taken over by gold. It was incredible.

"Here Tom." A bag was thrown in his direction, a small mole-skin pouch and Tom looked up at Harry with narrowed eyes. He could feel the magic around the bag, but he couldn't quite guess at what enchantments were placed upon it, not yet.

"See that pile over there," Harry pointed to a pile of gold beside the door, enough to probably buy a house with had he been of age, "just put it all in the bag. That'll be going in your bank once I'm done here." And with that, Harry stood, heading over to the old three books within the vault, pulling out his wand and pointing it in the direction of the three books. Several spells later, none of which Tom recognised, and Harry appeared done with the three books. Whatever they were, they were important, and he was almost sure that no one other than Harry would be able to get at them now, judging by the fact he'd used some blood in those spells.

"Ready to go? We'll get your school stuff after this."

* * *

Walking down Diagon alley with more money than he needed was certainly a first. One hand was settled upon his trouser pocket, in which Tom currently had the money Harry had allowed him to take from his newly full bank account. If there was one good thing that'd come from being adopted so far, it was the fact he'd clearly not have to worry about his financial future.

When he'd inquired as to whether or not he was allowed to buy any books with the money, Harry had just shrugged his shoulders, claiming that he'd almost blown his entire childhood bank account on an international standard broom. So as long as Tom paced himself with the money until he reached seventeen, he could do whatever the hell he wanted with it.  
So in a way, Harry had stated that he'd reimburse Tom when he came of age, but the orphan didn't want to rely fully on that. So instead he'd only taken a little extra as Harry had said to meet outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in two hours.

.

Having gathered all his books, along with some extra reading, and the rest of his school supplies, Tom made his way over to the little shop. This would probably be the first time in his life where he wasn't wearing second-hand clothing, everything was neat and freshly made and his. No one else's, but his alone. It was a magnificent change than to what he was used to.

Harry saw him coming, and with a lazy wave of his wand, everything in Tom's hands was suddenly much lighter. Harry himself had several bags around his feet, along with the cage of what appeared to be a Screech Owl. Tom was only able to pick out a few names of the store bags, but it was enough to get another reading on Harry's character.  
Not only did he like Quidditch by the look of the supply bags he'd bought, but he clearly had an interest in defence against the dark arts judging by the one book peeking over the edge of one bag.

He was sat talking to a blonde haired woman that was sat up to the table and regally nodding along with a lot of the things Harry was saying.

"Hey Tom, pull up a chair, there's an ice-cream on the table for you." Harry had to have used some fancy spell-work to keep it cool.

Seating himself, Tom let his eyes wonder over to the woman, taking in her appearance. Noble like features, wearing an expensive family heirloom on her wedding ring finger; definitely pure-blood. Harry seemed to have registered it to, which was probably why he was talking to her. If he had just come back from fighting against the dark lords forces in Europe, was it any wonder he was trying to amass a social circle of his own?

That was another thing about Harry, he was a good speaker. He was only talking about what he'd spent his day doing today but he seemed to have the pure-blood woman entrapped in his words.  
Taking a nibble of the ice-cream he'd never had the money to spare to buy before, Tom watched as his new guardian interacted, taking note.

.

"Mother! What are you doing talking to these commoners?" A voice Tom was sure he recognised sounded out behind him, and he turned to get a good look at Abraxas Malfoy. Ah, then this woman had to be Lady Malfoy then. Oh excellent.  
Harry blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair and looking over at the blond that'd interrupted his tale about his first time on a broom. Abraxas Malfoy was a Slytherin boy from the year above Tom, who was a brat that couldn't see past his own sharp, pure-blood nose.

"Harry, this is my husband, Quentin Malfoy, and our son, Abraxas." Lady Malfoy who Tom still didn't know the name of, gestured to each person in turn.

"Mother, you don't need to pity the poor people," Abraxas grumbled beneath his breath, folding his arms and looking up to his father for support. But Harry had already gotten up, extending his hand towards the Malfoy head with a pleasant, almost charming smile on his face.

"Harry Peverell," he mused, and just like that the atmosphere changed.  
Lady Malfoy clearly hadn't known Harry's surname, because a self-satisfied smile spread across her face and she gave her husband a smug look. Abraxas clearly hadn't been looking far back into the tree of blood purity, because he just sneered slightly at the unfamiliar name. Quentin Malfoy, however, did recognise the name, for he was quick to shake Harry's hand.

"Peverell as in-"

"The Peverell brothers? Yes, that would be it," Harry finished, letting go of the man's arm before plucking up his bags, gesturing for Tom to join him.

Sending a sneer towards Abraxas that let the blond know he'd clearly missed something important in the conversation, Tom stood too, biting his lip to prevent himself from snapping at Harry as the older man took his bags off his hands like he couldn't manage them on his own.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you Kathrin," kissing the older woman's hand as he held it with his only free one, Harry turned to Quentin before smiling again. "Mr Malfoy... Knowledgeable son you've got there." Patting Abraxas on the head as he went past, Harry swept by them and Tom offered a snarky grin to the younger Malfoy who, though clearly having no idea what Harry was referring to, still managed to register the jab aimed at him.

.

As the two of them continued down the street, Tom realized he was smiling at the display that Harry had just put on, and he wiped the emotion from his face, looking up at the wizard beside him. Harry was frowning, frowning deeply.

"Did you tell them I was adopted?" Tom asked, chewing on his lip as his mind raced with possibilities.

"We're distantly related."

Tom stopped, looking at Harry's back as the man kept walking before he ran along, desperate to keep up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you got into the Peverell vault without any repercussions, and I'm pretty sure that there'd have been some blood spell on it at least... I'll need to do a little more digging mind you- your middle name's Marvolo, right?" Nodding and very suspicious, Tom frowned.

"Yeah, that'd be a good place to start. Okay, let's go home." Offering the arm out again, Harry looked down at Tom and smiled. Tom didn't return the gesture, but took the arm anyway.

* * *

**Well, I hope you like this, and I hope the two of them are in character. Not much else to say really. **

**So, thank you for reading and reviewing,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	4. Part 2-2

**Ask No Questions  
_hear no lies_**

* * *

**Part 2.2  
20th July 1939**

Ever since he'd brought him home, Tom had been quiet. Too quiet in Harry's opinion. He had no idea what to make of the boy, he was so damningly closed off to the world, so far he'd only come out of his room for food. He'd spent all his time reading, and while that didn't interfere with Harry's current meetings with Dumbledore, it still made him twitchy.  
Now that they'd come to the conclusion that he would most certainly not be going back to the future, they'd started talks on what job Harry could take. Dumbledore wanted to get him in as a professor so that he'd be in an 'influential' position regarding the future, but that meant Harry had to resit his OWLS. And his NEWTS. Something he was not looking forwards to.

Which was why he was currently sat in the library, skimming through sixth and seventh year textbooks, seeing as he'd spent all of yesterday out sitting his OWLS again. Twenty years old, and still not done with the tests.

What was annoying was, that he couldn't stop thinking about the Riddle problem. How was he suppose to deal with Tom if the boy never surfaced from his room? And that wasn't the only thing, things had slowly been... Disappearing around the house.  
First, it'd just been the odd thing, a book, a pen, nothing too personal. Then, one of the heirlooms was gone from the mantle-piece. One of the Peverell ones he'd taken from the vault was gone.  
He was putting it off, he'd admit to himself, putting off dealing with Tom and his little sticky finger habit of taking anything that wasn't glued down.

But right now, walking in to find the only picture he'd had of Ginny, the one that didn't gave away the fact he was from another time-line, gone?

No, that was it.

* * *

From where he was sat up to his new desk within his new room, Tom flipped the page of the book he was reading, curious eyes absorbing every word present. Every so often, he'd flick his gaze upwards to he ginger haired girl in the only picture in the house, who stared back at him in a smiling manner, unaware that it was no longer Harry Peverell looking upon her form. This was the only physical evidence that Harry had known other people past those he'd met the previous month.  
Even the Potters, who's land they were staying on and to whom Harry was distantly related, didn't seemed to know him that well.  
This was the only evidence that Harry had not appeared out of thin air, this ginger haired girl sat on a grassy hill and looking over a lake with a sweet little smile on her face. She was about eighteen in the photo, a year or so younger than Harry so it had to be recent, of that he was sure.

Tom had taken it, because he might finally get a reaction. He wasn't used to being left alone, to having to reach out to get a reaction. The rest of the orphans, the rest of the student body had always pushed him, to talk to him or relate to him or to even get a read on him. He wasn't used to it being the other way around, and he didn't like it. So it was time to start pushing.  
The little things, Harry clearly didn't miss. He certainly wasn't bothered about the family heirloom he'd lifted off the mantle piece, which was rather surprising. Tom himself would have been furious had anyone touched something of his family. Not that he had anything of them, regardless, but still.  
Maybe now the photo, something quite obviously personal, would get Tom a reaction? See how far he could push until Harry snapped. He could gauge the kind of punishments he would get, the rules he could skit around, it was a very interesting situation, and Tom needed some footing.

This was perhaps the best way to go about it.

.

Not five minutes later, every single thing in Tom's room suddenly attached itself to the ceiling, even his chair, which threw him off in order to do so. Landing on the floor with a thump, Tom looked up at the roof above his head, noticing how his bookshelves had twisted so that the opening was now facing the ceiling. Everything but his wand, which had been sat on the desk, was now up there, and didn't look like it'd be coming down.

Reaching for his wand to rectify the situation, Tom realized that the yew spell-caster was rolling away from him and out of the door, picking up momentum as it went. He laid there for a second, sprawled out in a most undignified manner as he watched the wand disappear from sight before he regained his barrings.

Leaping to his feet, Tom took off after the wand, watching as it lifted into the air and shot down the stairs, rounding and heading to the kitchen. He skidded around the banister in time to watch it soar outside into the magically enlarged back garden. Tom took after it, not even bothering to stop to put his shoes on. It was, after all, summer and hadn't rained in quite a few days. He could always bath once he got in.

It was only when he got to the collection of oak trees in the back-garden did he remember just why it was that all of this could be happening.

.

Harry Peverell was stood in the center of the clearing before the oak trees, an unreadable expression upon his face and both his own and Tom's wand in his hand. Tom slowed to a stop from his run, realizing just how flustered and off-balance Harry had managed to get him, and he scrambled for his composure once again.  
With a barely there twitch of his wand, Harry had every single item that Tom had taken these past few days in front of him. In a small pile, all that he'd been flinching from the house was presented before him. It was only the picture of the ginger haired girl that didn't pile up, instead floating ever so gently to rest in the palm of Harry's hand.

"This Tom, is unfair. What were you hoping to gain by taking all of this?"  
Tom felt his mouth dry up, because not even Dumbledore had asked why. He'd just told him off for it, and Mrs Cole hadn't dared to do anything about his little collection of trophies. Harry looked back at him, but Tom refused to admit that he was looking for a rise out of him.  
So instead, he made careful contact with the bright green eyes, attempting the Legilimency he knew. And to his absolute shock, the strongest mental barriers he'd ever encountered came down over Harry's mind, throwing him out instantly.

"Let me guess," Harry grumbled, folding his arms and raising a brow as if Tom hadn't just tried to invade his privacy, "you don't have a clue how to react to me. You don't know what to do, so now that you're in a corner, you're lashing out like a viper." Dropping the ever-constant back-pack onto the floor, Harry retrieved something from within it's depths, but it was behind his back before Tom could get a clear look at it.

"You want to get a read on me, fine. I'll show you what it was like growing up in my shoes. That's the best way to learn about someone right? Seeing as I've already talked to the Ministry, this shouldn't be a problem."

And then, Harry threw Tom's wand back to him. Snatching the yew out the air, Tom checked it over to make sure it was all okay, and now that he was armed, Tom snapped his head up, ready to show the Peverell just what he thought of him. Only, he was gone.

.

Eyes wide in surprise, Tom took a quick look around, over his shoulders and back to the house. He was completely alone, but he hadn't heard anything that indicated apperation. And there was no way Harry would have been able to run and hide behind the trees in such a short amount of time.

Sneering, Tom turned on heel, ready to head back inside and get away from the nut-job he was currently sharing a house with, when a bright flash came from his left side. The full force of an Expelliarmus charm hitting him in the side sent Tom flying back, his wand shooting from his arm and off to a side.  
He landed with a thump on the ground, pain shooting up his rump, though he was quick to sit up and try to find the source of the spell. But he was still alone in the clearing.

It wasn't until another blast came from the side, the bright red light of a stunning spell, that Tom finally leapt into action, his heart pounding in his chest. He rolled to a side, narrowly dodging the spell before he reached for his wand. He got it just in time to summon up a shield spell, though so weak against the next blast that came at him that he was once again thrown back.

This time though, he made sure to keep a good grip on his wand, and when he landed, he threw an Expelliarmus charm to the side he was sure the last blast had come from. It never hit anything though, just sailed through the air and Tom finally realized that the feeling gripping at his heart was cold, hard fear. He was being attacked. Harry had disappeared, and he was on his own.

He threw several knock-back jinxes around, in hopes of one of them hitting, and was quickly dodging the blasts coming his way because his shield was no way good enough to block them.

.

"Langlock."  
And then to Tom's utter panic, his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Harry reappeared, hiding whatever he was holding behind his back again with a frown on his face.

"That, is what I put up with for seven years of my life. Never knowing where the next attempt on my life would come from. By my first year of schooling, I'd already dealt with one dark wizard, and in my second one, I killed a Basilisk with nothing but a sword and a phoenix for help. You want to know a bit about me Tom? I'm a survivor, so if you start taking things from me, I'm not going to handle it very well. I'm paranoid, and can't say I won't take it as a threat. If you want to know something, just ask..."

Tom knew his eyes were wide, because there as no way Harry had killed a Basilisk, never mind at the same age as Tom, but he spoke with such... Honesty.

"The jinx will wear off in an hour or so. If you want your things off the ceiling, you better start behaving better."

* * *

It was with humiliation heavy on his shoulders that Tom made his way to the house again several minutes after Harry. Never before had he been so thoroughly... bested. Shame and bitterness fell heavy upon his shoulders and he sent his best glare at Harry, who was apparently had no idea how pure-bloods should act, because he was helping the house elf with the cooking.

As he entered the kitchen, Tom made sure to keep the sneer off his face, because he didn't doubt what Harry had said. He wanted his things back, so now it would be like walking on glass. Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Harry turned to look at him and frowned.

"Tom, I don't want us to be enemies. I've been through a lot and I can really help you, okay? I know what it's like not to have parents and to grow up unwanted okay? Just give me a chance."

He wasn't able to hide the sneer this time, because there was just something about this man that unbalanced him. Give him a chance. Ha, like that'd happen.

* * *

**At University now, so updates will be slower now I actually have stuff to do and have a social life.**

**So, thank you for reading and reviewing,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	5. Part 2-3

**Ask No Questions  
_hear no lies_**

* * *

**Part 2.3  
****23rd July 1939****  
**

He'd spent two day's trying to retrieve his stuff, everything from bodily pulling at the items, to magic when he learnt that Potter land allowed for under-aged magic. Yet, he was still no better now than he'd been before. Only his bed had come down, and that had happened when he'd finally relented to washing the dishes from dinner after a night on the cold, hard floor. After all that, he'd come to a conclusion.

Harry Peverell was a menace, and Tom wanted out.

Yet, he couldn't go back to the orphanage, because this was still a step up from there. Which meant he'd gone to the only other destination. The Potter manor house.

Hence, after checking it over with Harry's distant relative, he'd been allowed into the Potter library. Or at least, allowed access to one shelf which didn't require Potter blood to pull the books off of. Not that Tom was complaining at the moment. He was racing through the books, devouring their knowledge, be it accounts of important times in history, or just simple journals by the less interesting members of the Potter family.

.

"Tom?"

Pausing in his reading, Tom looked up over the cover of the book currently in his clutches; a detailed account of the last fifty years into magical developments. Charlus Potter, whom was the younger brother of the head of the household was looking at him with a weary half smile on his lips. Careful to show only polite interest in this stranger, Tom offered up a friendly smile to the man and watched as he instantly became more familiar in his posture. Even pure-blood adults were easy to play.

"Yes sir?" He didn't feel too bad about calling Charlus and George sir, because they were not only pure-bloods, but the owners of this library. The more respect he showed them, the greater chance he had of being able to swindle more library access from them.

"Harry just dropped by, he said he's going out of town on business, and that it might take him a while, so you can stay in one of the guest rooms here."  
Tom was definitely less interested in the book now, looking up at Charlus and frowning.

"Out of town?" He wasn't allowed to go out of town. Tom needed the idiot of a guardian to give him his things back first because damn it he really wanted to read those books he'd bought. He was suppose to be a sensible adult, not someone who ran off and left Tom on his own. Well, not completely on his own, but stuck with these people he knew nothing about.

"Yeah, said something about recovering another family artefact, though he did leave this for you," Charlus dropped a rather large book on the table and Tom's eyes flew over the cover, taking it in. '_Defence Against the Darks_,' was scrawled across the navy blue cover in a metallic silver, gleaming in the light. It looked like it'd be a lot of heavy reading. "He said if you can get to the chapter on dementors, he'll start teaching you the charm for defending from them once he get's back."  
Now Tom's interest was caught. A new charm if he completed some reading?

"Thank you sir."

"It's Charlus Tom. If we're gonna live together, just consider me an uncle, okay?" The idea of a pure-blood family, a well-known one, accepting him into the fold was another step up the Slytherin ladder, so Tom nodded all to happy with the outcome today had presented.

* * *

**27th August 1939**

"Where have you been?"  
Stumbling into his own living room after appertaining back, Harry righted himself quickly, looking over at Tom. The large form of '_Defence Against the Darks_' was sat beside the boy, the extraordinary thick book as tall as the boy's forearm was long . Running a hand through his hair and adjusting the glasses that were currently resting atop his nose, Harry looked down at Tom and then thought back on the interesting people he'd met this past month. So many questions still remained in his mind, but he pushed them back, instead focusing upon the orphan beside him.

"I was searching for this." Throwing the little brown package towards Tom, Harry watched as the orphan caught it, turning the wrapping this way and that, inspecting the crinkled brown paper held together with three rounds of string. "Open it."  
Tom clearly didn't need telling twice, and Harry sat himself down on the couch whilst the boy was preoccupied, rotating his stiff shoulders and scowling. He shouldn't have had to spend several nights out camping, he could have just apperated about, but that'd have taken time, and he'd wanted this over as soon as possible.

Slowly, Tom pulled the golden chain from the bag, lifting up the small locket with a look of complete befuddlement on his face.

"This is..."

"The locket of Salazar Slytherin," now he without a doubt had Tom's attention, "the trinket your mother sold for a pittance of money."

At the mention of his mother, Tom's hand curled around the locket protectively and Harry let him, remembering how he'd felt with the invisibility cloak.

"I've been tracing your family tree back whilst I've been looking for that. You're a descendent of not only Salazar himself," Harry stopped for a second, taking in Tom's wide eyes and confused expression, like he couldn't quite understand why Harry had bothered to do this for him at all, "but you're also from the second Peverell brother. So, we are related, if somewhat very distantly."  
Tom's eyes were still on him, and remained there for a few seconds before they slowly lowered towards the locket he'd been presented with, absent-mindedly running a thumb over the surface of the gold. Harry knew how he felt, remembered how amazed he'd been upon holding the invisibility cloak, how it'd once been in his father's hands and was now within his own.

"What do I have to give you?"

"What?"  
Tom rolled his eyes at Harry's confused tone, running his fingers up and down the golden chain and frowning to himself as he did so.

"People just don't hand over family heirlooms, not without a price."

"I just want you to actually try getting to know me Tom. I think we could... Well, I don't know if it'd be a friendship or a family relationship... But I think we could relate to one another. I don't want anything from you other than to get to know you."

* * *

Lying across the sheets of his bed, Tom starred up at the ceiling, hand still curled around the oval shaped gold he'd been given. Harry had been looking into his family background. Harry had brought him his inheritance on a whim.  
And Tom wasn't sure how to feel about that.

It was nice of him, but Tom didn't like the lack of a price, it was like charity. And he'd had enough of that over the years, even from the little he'd been given before hand. He knew nothing came without a price, that Harry did in fact want something from him. Information. Harry wanted to get to know him, but what was there to know about Tom? He was an orphan, probably a half-blood. And his mother had once been the owner of the locket now clenched in his hands. Which meant that she was probably a witch. He wasn't too sue if he wanted to accept that fact, so instead, he moved on to what else he knew about himself.  
Tom was the best student in his year. He knew some of his ancestry now thanks to Harry, but other than that, there wasn't a whole lot more to Tom. What kind of information was Harry expecting?  
He wouldn't be telling him about being able to talk to snakes, not after the reaction it'd gained from Dumbledore. It wasn't a good quality apparently.

And all of a sudden, Tom wanted to be on his guardian's good side, if only for the fact Harry clearly knew what he was doing in every sense of the word. He'd been able to trace Tom's family tree in a month, something Tom had not been able to do with a year of time and access to Hogwarts and it's library. Not only that, but he'd been able to track his inheritance down, the glittering gold locket in his hand was proof enough of that.  
And Harry, by his own words, had survived. If Tom was to believe what he'd been told by the man, then he was a fighter and a powerful wizard. Tom wasn't about to go and ignore him now.

"Tom? Wanna go out for the rest of the day?" As if attracted by the thought of himself, Harry's head appeared around the door frame, a tentative smile on his face and two paper tickets clenched in his hand. "I've got tickets to the Harpies v Tornado's game." He waved the paper proof as if to exaggerate his point and Tom raised a brow.  
He wasn't huge on Quidditch; flying wasn't something that he was completely brilliant at like all the other parts of magic, but was it better to get out into the magical community for the rest of the day rather than just lay on his bed re-reading a book he'd almost memorized? He needed new reading material, that was for he nodded slightly, standing up and reaching for his wand.

Harry smiled brighter before disappearing downstairs.

.

Upon reaching the Quidditch field, Tom still wasn't sure whether this had been a good idea. It looked rather crowded, though he was interested in the little knick-knacks that the vendors were selling. Harry bought sweets only, though he had given Tom what he'd called 'pocket money', but was in fact more money than he'd been given by the orphanage in a year, for him to spend on what he pleased. Tom was going to save it till the next trip to Diagon Alley to buy books with. Although he did buy one that focused on Quidditch and flying manoeuvres. It burned him inside knowing he wasn't brilliant at everything, and he planned on fixing it.

"Do you want a broom by the way?" Harry asked when they'd sat down in their seats. Seats that, Tom was informed, were the best in the house by the stranger sat next to him, who looked a little confused at their presence.

"What?"

"For flying; have they not taught you that yet?" Harry looked genuinely confused, scratching at his head before frowning, "I learnt in my first year of school, I could teach you if you like? I played seeker for six years."

Tom quickly latched onto the information; Harry had to be somewhat good to have been kept on the team for six years, so Tom would maybe take him up on that offer once they returned home. He held no love for Quidditch or for flying on a broom, but it was a skill to be learnt, and if there was anything Tom liked it was learning as many new things as he could.

"I would like that," he said quietly, watching as Harry gave him a somewhat puzzled look before smiling slightly, reaching over and ruffling his once neat hair. The commentator quickly began identifying those flying and Harry's attention was on the pitch instantly.

.

They moved fast, Tom noticed, much faster than the teams at school and it was impressive, even he had to admit. Whilst he preferred other areas of magic, coming to a league game had opened his eyes up a bit; this part of the wizarding world required every bit of skill that any other area did.

It wasn't until forty minutes in that the snitch was caught, and the Harpies had won. Harry clapped along and Tom made a mental note that he favoured the all-girls team over the Tornadoes. It was a small tidbit of information, but Tom was willing to take any and all knowledge regarding his guardian now.  
He wasn't going to lie, the man was interesting. There was his background, of which Tom had only caught a glimpse so far. The red-head girl in the photo, the basilisk he'd mentioned before, the way he'd called himself a 'survivor'; it wasn't painting a complete picture. In fact, it just seemed like a very light, sketchy outline. And Tom didn't like being left in the dark like that; he wanted to know everything about the man he was now living with.

"Harry!" Tom frowned at the very female voice that was addressing his current guardian and he watched as the man in question twisted towards the sound of the voice. Tom too turned to look at the approaching woman. Golden blonde hair plastered to her forehead and clutching the winning snitch in her right hand, seeker Smith of the Holyhead Harpies was approaching them, looking fresh from the pitch if her flustered cheeks and Quidditch attire was anything to go by.

"Tom, this is Gracia Smith, Gracia, this is Tom Riddle, my... Charge." Tom frowned slightly at Harry's hesitance to introduce him -though was that due to an uncertainty of their relationship with one another, or a general dislike for him?- before offering the seeker his hand. Gracia happily shook it, and Tom was thankful for the leather gloves that were standard gear, for he did not want that woman's sweat all over his palm. The blonde's brown eyes swept downwards before focusing upon the locket that was currently dangling around Tom's throat.

"Gracia was the one who helped me locate the locket." Now that had Tom's attention.

The Harpies seeker was smiling now, nodding along as she idly played with the snitch within her grasp.

"Yes, my aunt was very sad to see it go. But how could she had refused your trade? Not only Godric's amulet, but Rowena's necklace too? She's absolutely mystified about how someone as young as yourself owned those particular items, but I rather think dear old Aunt Hepzibah was expecting you to write it in your will that she'd be allowed the locket upon your death. Seeing as you've given it to another, I highly doubt her dreams will come true." Gracia smiled wearily and Harry grinned back at her before going on to praise her rather magnificent flying skills and recalling his own days as a seeker.

Meanwhile, Tom was trying to focus past the facts that little speech had given him. From the sounds of it, this Aunt of Gracia's collected artefacts that had once belonged to the founders of Hogwarts. And Harry had traded the two in his possession for the one that Tom was currently twirling between his fingers. He stilled the movement of the locket, looking down at he gold and wondering just what the necklace and amulet in question had looked like. Why had Harry traded them instead of simply ignoring Tom's inheritance and focusing upon the two gems he had? He just didn't understand how his guardian's mind worked, it made his head spin and just offered hundreds more questions for every one that he got an answer to.

Quite simply, Tom Riddle did not understand Harry Peverell. But he swore, someday he would, and he would find out just what the man wanted from him in return, because it couldn't be good.

One way or another.

* * *

**University and -shock horror- having a social life is really draining my time writing. And for that, I can never be sorry enough. I pray and hope that this chapter is okay and it's not too much of a filler. We hit Part 3 and Hogwarts next, so I'm sure that'll be a good chapter -or so I hope- we I actually get around to writing it. As for the necklace and amulet, they'll be explained later; because the founders must hav eleft more than one item behind each. Of course, Harry has been off tracking them down.  
Anyway, last I looked at this, I have over 300 Alerts, which is amazing, so I thank you.**

**Thank you all so much for your reviews, I still feel like I'm only paddling in the shallow end of the Potter fandom, even though I've spent a good portion of my free time doing nothing but reading the fanfictions. They're all so beautiful. Anyway, regarding _Gracia, _she's not going to be a main character, she'll only show up for times when Harry needs to contact people; because hey, she plays quidditch and she's got the contacts thanks to her Aunt. **

**Speaking of girls though, should Harry get a girly friend from this age, or would you prefer to see him with Ginny or without anyone (though why you'd be cruel enough to chose the last option, I'm not sure). Regardless, I'm not going to be introducing a romance for him until much further in if I do, though comments are appreciated. **

**So, thank you for reading and reviewing,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	6. Part 3-1

**Ask No Questions  
_hear no lies_**

* * *

**Part 3.1  
****1st September 1939****  
**

The first thing Tom Riddle had looked up after his first train ride to Hogwarts was all the ways in which a door could be warded. After the incident in which several seventh year Slytherins had managed to hex him upon hearing his surname and deeming him to be a 'mudblood', he'd been on guard. He'd not once let his guard slip since then, always looking and watching out for one of the older years until he could handle them. He'd made sure to exert his control, to show just how incredibly talented, how he was special, even over all those other pre-bloods who believed themselves above him.

But he knew Dumbledore was always watching, waiting for him to slip up and show his true colours, just like how he'd done so back in the orphanage. The very memory of his first visitor made him burn with humiliation, the fact he'd allowed his emotions to run away from him so fast that he'd put himself at a disadvantage at school. Because now one of the teachers didn't trust him, and by extension, didn't like him. He made sure he kept his 'shows' of control confined within the first year dormitories. He knew that it'd be pushing it to take on any NEWT students in a duel first year, he'd have a fifty-fifty chance of winning, and those weren't odds Tom was fond of.

So, he'd give himself to the end of his second year to learn enough. Just enough to prove that he was the rightful ruler of the Slytherin house, and that those pretenders, even if they were pure-bloods, had no place in his throne. He'd be in charge, he'd be someone of importance. Until then though, he was stuck studying and avoiding the older students. Hence the warding of his compartment door.

No one would be bothering him whilst he was on the train.

.

The carriage ride to the castle had been exceedingly boring, in which he'd shared with three other Slytherins, all of whom were in his year and were in terrified awe of him. Oh, they put on a good enough show in front of the staff, of course they did. He didn't put forward anything that could possibly be seen as threatening in front of witnesses he couldn't deal with yet, he was the perfect student to anyone who he didn't want to know. All but Dumbledore that was.

Now, he was being led into the hall, only half listening to whatever it was that Lestrange was saying. Something to do with the goblins at Gringotts. Tom wasn't too interested; if it was big news he'd have heard about it. Lestrange would probably just be getting whining because his vault wasn't secure enough or something equally as stupid as that.  
His eyes scanned the staff table just like last year, easily picking up Slughorn's rather plump form seated beside professor Dumbledore as usual. The two were in deep discussion with the person on Dumbledore's right-

Tom actually stopped walking, ignoring the hiss of a third year that bumped into him from behind. What was Harry doing sat up to the staff table?

His new guardian was involved in a rapt discussion with Slughorn and Dumbledore, the former of whom looked almost astounded by whatever Harry was talking about. Dumbledore was just smiling along, those stupid eyes twinkling in that annoying fashion as if he completely expected this from Harry. Which raised questions, though that shouldn't surprise Tom by now.  
Did Harry know Dumbledore? Or perhaps the better question was, did Dumbledore know Harry? If so, how much did he know? Was it more or less than Tom?

Something inside his stomach burned and Tom forced himself to keep walking towards his table, mentally counting the amount of staff upon the table, looking for whoever was missing.  
Had Harry gotten a job as a professor? He was too young, surely? Besides, there wasn't anyone missing from the staff table who'd not been here the previous year. So what was going on?

Harry seemed to have realized he was being watched, because he looked up and met Tom's eyes. And then, he had the gall to wink at him, like this was all a huge joke.

"Come on Tom," Lestrange whispered from beside him, gesturing to the seventh years behind him that were looking pretty impatient by now.

"What's he doing here?" Tom hissed back in return, speeding up only ever so slightly, so that he could keep pace with Lestrange but not appear as if he were giving in to the boy's demand to increase his speed. Lestrange's father was on the board of governors, so he should know. But of course, the raven haired pre-teen looked equally as startled as Tom felt when his eyes landed on Harry.

"No idea, father never said anything about a new face."

.

Forced to sit through the feast without any answers offered up to him, Tom found himself having to look for them instead. First, he inspected the older Slytherins, to see if they had any idea as to what in Merlin's name was going on. However, there was no recognition on their faces, in fact, not one other student seemed to realize what was happening.  
Sickeningly enough, a handful of seventh year female students appeared to even be attracted to his moronic guardian. Hell, even a few of the professors seemed mystified as to why Harry was present at the table.

So, it was at long last and great relief to Tom, that Dippet finally stood and gathered the crowds attention. After the first long winded, five minute lecture on how they were to welcome the new schooling year, and that everything was going to go well this year, including exams, Dippet finally got to the point.

"I am also pleased to announce, that we will be offering a new subject this year, compulsory to all years. Due to the recent events regarding the Dark Lord Grindelwald, the Ministry has approved of a course that focuses upon duelling, taught by our most recent arrival, Professor Peverell."

There was silence as Harry stood up, offering a lazy wave and looking surprisingly uncomfortable being the focus of everyone's attention. Lestrange, sat beside him, repeated Harry's surname in a breathy tone, almost as if he couldn't believe it. From somewhere further up the table, he heard someone whisper about how that particular family line was suppose to be dead.  
It took a few seconds before Harry realized he was actually suppose to say something, because he looked to Dippet and the tables and then back again as if he couldn't quite comprehend what was being asked of him.

"Okay, erm... So I'm going to be teaching you how to duel. Or rather, how to win in a duel I guess." For someone who'd achieved the title of professor at such a young age, Tom could hardly believe how unsure Harry was acting in front of a crowd. He nervously flattened his messy black fringe so it covered the lightning bolt scar, a habit that Tom had spotted him doing whenever a handful of people were looking at him. Clearly there was a story behind that scar, if this behaviour was anything to go by.

"I guess I've got enough experience for the post, I've survived a few duels with dark wizards... So I look forward to teaching you all." And he dropped into his chair with a thump that echoed through the great hall.  
Tom could only blink in barely hidden surprise. This was nothing like the man he'd been spending time with the past few days. What was it about crowds, about a mass of people, that made him act this way?

"He's adorable," one of the seventh year girls whispered dreamily, another beside her looking just as happy at their newest teacher. Tom was only just able to stop his lip from curling in disgust at her behaviour.

.

Once they were dismissed, Tom stood, ignoring Lestrange as he tried to herd him out the grand door and away from the staff table. No, Tom wanted answers. Even if he had to play the perfect student part to get it. A crowd of older students had already formed around Harry, about a quarter of them boys. One girl had already enquired as to how old Harry was, to which the boy had replied he was twenty years old, and had been since July. He still looked nervous amongst the crowd, but less so than when he'd introduced himself and his subject.

"Get lost Riddle." Ah, Nott. One of the older Slytherin boys, now a seventh year student and someone Tom would love to shove into Black Lake.

"It's Riddle-Peverell actually," Tom replied as neutrally as he could whilst raising his voice just enough so others could hear him. Several Slytherin heads snapped his way to stare full out, and one of those heads included Harry himself.

"Tom," he smiled, stepping around a handful of students to come to a stop in front of him. By now, several of his fellow snakes seemed to have come to the conclusion that he and Harry certainly knew each other, and there had to be a connection between them because suddenly Tom's last name had changed.

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you any warning, it wasn't finalized till just after I dropped you off at the station earlier."  
Even though he wasn't happy in the least with his guardian for withholding information, he had to give the man credit. He was purposely dropping hints that the two of them were somewhat close, so now, it was Tom's turn to push it a bit further.

"It's certainly a surprise, but what will be happening over the holidays? I'm just a bit worried regarding the blood-wards at home, did you key it in to Potter blood or Peverell blood? Because if it's the former I'm not too sure how welcoming the house would be, seeing as I only have the latter." He knew that wasn't true, Harry had shown him how he'd tracked Potter blood back to a Peverell descendent, so in theory, he was a secondary branch from the Peverell trunk, just like the Potters. He just wanted to point out his linage, now that he could do so.  
All the Slytherins and several others from the rest of the houses were looking at them now, not that Harry noticed. He was frowning, as if trying to remember what he'd keyed the blood wards into.

"Peverell I think," he finally answered before shrugging to himself, "never mind Tom, I'll see you in class tomorrow."

.

As they made their way back to the dorms, Tom forced himself not to indulge in a smug smirk of superiority, even as Lestrange appeared by his elbow. Malfoy was walking three feet in front of them, not enough to be seen with them, but enough to overhear their conversation. Tom was willing to allow it for now. Another opportunity to show the boy up, because he should have recognised that surname instantly with his background. His father would most certainly have seen to it since that encounter in Diagon Alley.

"You have Peverell blood?"

"It appears so, I have the ability to open the vault in Gringotts, of course I took on the name the second I heard. It's quite, prestigious, don't you think? Of course, after Harry's claim to the bloodline, I make a very knowledgeable heir." He watched as Malfoy's shoulders stiffened, obviously remembering the words from Harry's jab from when they'd first met.

"Harry?"

"Oh, Professor Peverell. He's my guardian now. You know, apparently family stick together." A causal shrug and he could tell Lestrange was already intrigued with his connection to the new professor. It'd be all around school come morning, quite obviously in rumour form. But it would most certainly boost Tom's reputation regardless, so he couldn't care less. Just wait until he could reveal his connection to their glorious founder.

And with that, the Slytherin heir headed to bed.

* * *

Dropping back onto the mattress of his bed, Harry let out a long, low sigh, flattening his fringe before forcibly stopping himself. People might be curious about the scar now, but it wouldn't be like before. They wouldn't know the story behind it, and they never would.

Being back at Hogwarts, a Hogwarts still not in the process of being rebuilt, was like coming home. And at the same time, it made him feel sick. Seeing the battle. All the bodies. Pressing both hands into his eyes, Harry let out a low growl and moved his thoughts elsewhere.

More over, to Tom.

He knew the boy was struggling to get his footing in Slytherin, and Harry had been quick to offer him a way up without having to harm and threaten. He caught on, thankfully, and now that information would be moving around the school rather quickly. Related to the brothers, connected to the Hallows? Yeah, that was a huge step up from a no named orphan.

Rubbing at his chin and grimacing at the stubble there -he really should shave in morning- Harry frowned at the thought of the Hallows. The Elder wand was still around. Should he fetch the Resurrection stone for Tom like he did the locket? Would it be a problem that there were two invisibility cloaks now? One owned by George Potter and then one owned by himself? Focusing, Harry did his best to assess the threat level of the three items in his head.  
At the bottom was the stone; though going after it would surely mean meeting Tom's uncle, it couldn't be helped if he wanted to give Tom his inheritance.  
Next was the cloaks. There were two of the same object in a time when there should only have been one. He hated to think how out of balance everything was now that there were four Hallows, two of which were twinned.  
Finally, and most importantly, was the wand. He could not go after that one, not now. Grindelwald was on the same level as Dumbledore, and whilst Harry himself had defeated Voldermort, he knew there was a rather large factor of luck and other things in his achievement. If he went against the current Dark Lord, he'd lose. He simply didn't know enough, so it was perhaps best to warn Dumbledore of who possessed the wand, and then just sit back and watch history take it's course.  
Then maybe, he might be able to talk Dumbledore into snapping the wand. He could only hope.

Rolling over in his bed, Harry let his thoughts fly towards tomorrows lesson and a small smile played at his face.

Yes, he was going to rather enjoy tomorrow.

* * *

**So, it's not even been 24 hours since I put the last chapter up, and already I have 30 reviews. Wow. So, I proudly present this next chapter for your reading pleasure. You thought Tom would get away from Harry at Hogwarts? Like hell he would. I hope their characters are all right.**

**Tom's sudden, almost cynical view on things, I've found that personally, my own outlook and reaction to things differs if I'm in a different location. I know at home I'm much more relaxed and at school I'm more on guard, and I can see Tom twisting and adapting to the place he's in and showing the personality better suited for that environment.  
****Regarding Harry's sudden timidness of crowds; he's used to being stared a being the whole 'Boy-who-lived' and the winner of his duel with Voldie back in his own time. He'll get used to it though. Maybe.****  
**

**On the topic of Harry's potential romance it won't be happening until Tom and Harry have got a stable enough relationship between them, so it'll be a long time before I do that, if I do. On the topic though, an OC from this time is winning -shockingly enough-.**

**So, thank you for reading and reviewing,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	7. Part 3-2

**Ask No Questions  
_hear no lies_**

* * *

**Part 3.2  
2nd September 1939**

_Dear Ginny,_

_I'm not too sure of what will happen now. I'm not even sure if you'll remember me as the person I am, or if I'll be a completely different person all together now. Maybe I've gone so far back I've blow up all the chances I had of being born. I wish I could know what the future's going to be like now, I wish I could know if I am doing the right thing._

_ I miss you all. Most specifically yourself, Hermione and Ron. So much so, it feels like a physical pain. It's almost the same as with Cedric; we didn't get any warning, we didn't know there was going to be a fight or that we'd get torn apart so quickly, so harshly. If anything, I wish that I hadn't answered that call. But I guess that's what comes with the job of being an Auror. _

_I suppose it's better that I'm stuck in the past rather than anyone else who'd have answered that call had I not. I've defeated him once, and if need be, I can do it again. That's not to say I want to do that. But if all else comes down to it, and I haven't really changed anything, then I suppose that's how it'll happen. I'd rather hope to avoid that though. If I can just figure him out, just help him, then I could save so many lives. We could all be happy. And every one of you deserves that, so I'm going to try my hardest.  
Even if I have no idea what I'm doing._

_I guess this is my goodbye Ginny, even though I'll probably never be fully over you. I just wish we'd had a little more time. Wish we'd gone out for that picnic that day, just the two of us, instead of meeting up with what was left of the Order. _

_I know you'll never read this, because you'll never know this me, not if I have anything to say about it. If you meet a Harry Potter, it'll be one with parents and no scar, as long as everything goes right. But then, when does it ever do?_

_ I really hope I don't have to stop him and that he can stop himself._

_Thank you loving me._

* * *

Looking down at his new time-table, Tom frowned at the lesson housed in his third block of lesson time for the day. Over the week, he had only a single one hour lessons in duelling, paired up with the Gryffindors. He'd managed to capture a glimpse of a seventh year's time-table and found they had three sessions, OWL students appeared to have two if Lestrange's snooping was anything to go by.

He wasn't sure whether or not to look forwards to the lesson with his guardian, because sure, it was his potential for a slip up there was massive, because Harry knew one side of him. Not the perfect persona he presented at Hogwarts, not the way he had every Slytherin in his year wrapped around his finger. Harry knew him as the testy little orphan boy, who'd had the orphanage under thumb and been used to getting his own way. He'd brought out real fear inside of Tom back when he'd been confronted for trying to get a reaction from him, back when Harry had somehow disappeared from sight and began firing curses at him.

And the man had attempted -and Tom used the word attempted because it hadn't worked, he'd only complied out of necessity- to humble him. By making him do chores of all things.

Tom would bend, but he would not be broken. He'd comply for the time being, but he wasn't going to be reduced to another everyday child. He was going to be something greater.

He just had to make Harry see that.

"So, anything I should know about our new professor?" Lestrange asked with a raised brow, chomping down into his toast and chewing it in an almost thoughtful manner.

"He can be a sadist if pushed," Tom murmured as he remembered back on the pile of stolen things and then the pure fear and being attacked, "I assume you'd rather enjoy whatever he'd cook up for detention."  
Lestrange grimaced, probably thinking back to the week of detention he'd served under their oh so loving care-taker.

"He's gotta be better than Pringle," Lestrange almost shuddered at the thought of the caretaker and Tom nodded slightly. Though he himself had never had detention, he'd heard of the man and his fondness for corporal punishment.

"Come on, let's get to class."

* * *

Rotating his shoulders, Harry smiled at his class from behind his desk, having finished going over all the theory about duelling and a quick, basic run through on its history.

The seventh years he'd been teaching the past two hours seemed more than happy to remain and listen to the rest of what he had to say, but their time was now up. He'd been nervous to start with, because the kids before him were only two or three years younger than what he was. But they hadn't given him any problems. Well, all but one Gryffindor boy who thought this was all a waste of time, as being a pure-blood, he'd already been taught duelling etiquette. So Harry had asked him to come and duel him. If he won, he'd be allowed to leave the class and pass with flying colours.

Needless to say, the boy was now humbled and would be back for the next lesson later on in the week.

"Professor, when do you want your homework in?" Clementine Fawley, seventh year Ravenclaw, was stood before him, adjusting her golden brown locks in a nervous fashion. "You never gave a deadline."  
Blinking, because god was Harry used to being told the dead-lines, not handing them out, the young professor laughed nervously.

"Just have it finished for next week's lesson okay?" He looked towards the door where pretty much the entire class had disappeared from and sighed. "It'd be a great help if you could pass on the message Miss Fawley."  
The young NEWT student blushed, nodding her head in a rapid motion before disappearing around the corner, clutching her books to her chest. Her two friends, who'd been waiting outside the class room for her, giggled slightly and smiled at Harry as they left, leaving Harry with the impression that he would most certainly never understand the female race.

Eyes quickly flickering to the sheet of paper upon his desk, Harry smiled at the information that it offered up. Second year Gryffindors and Slytherins.

This should certainly be fun.

.

Drumming his quill against the desk as he thought, Harry finally decided upon what he was going to do with the second years that were filtering into his classroom.

"Don't get comfortable, we're going to a more practical room in a minute."

Several heads snapped up to look at him in a curious manner, ignoring that of his recently adopted charge. Harry had already picked up on the fact the boy was stumbling -well, for Riddle it was a stumble- in an attempt to merge his previous behaviour with the mask he wore at Hogwarts. He acted like the perfect child here, Harry could see that now. Back in diary Riddle's memory, watching as he played Dippet so well, so effortlessly, Harry had been drawn in. How could you not? That sixteen year old Riddle had been the perfect student.

But Tom before him was not quite there yet, he still needed to work on hiding a few of his emotions. He was still closer to the eleven year old Riddle that Dumbledore had shown him as oppose to the diary.

Completing a quick count of the number of heads in the room and then checking it against the register, Harry clapped his hands together and instantly silence gathered in the classroom.

"Let's go then, follow after me."

* * *

Harry was leading them up to the Seventh floor, along the left hand corridor until they were by the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy. A handful of the Slytherins were snickering at Harry, who was staring up at a blank wall in contemplation and Tom gritted his teeth.

He didn't doubt his guardian meant to lead them here, but for what?

As one of the Slytherins whispered to another that their new professor was lost and clearly wasn't fit to teach, Harry began pacing in front of the blank wall, a look of concentration on his face.  
And just like that, a small door appeared from the patchwork of stone, growing out of the wall itself.

His fellow snakes were silent after that and Tom made a point to look at them and raise an eyebrow, as if ashamed at them for doubting their newest professor.

"Okay, everyone inside," Harry gestured to the door before them and waited for them to start going in. However, no one was taking the lead.

Sighing, Tom pushed a noticeably short Gryffindor out of his way, twisting the door handle and making his way inside the room. Inside was a room that should not be as big as it was. It was perhaps the size of the great hall, which was impossible because the seventh floor wouldn't be able to hold a room that big. Which meant there was an undetectable extension charm upon the room. Interesting. A long, waist high platform sat in the center of the room; standardized .

.

Having followed his lead, the rest of the class had fumbled in and Harry shut the door behind them, rubbing his hands together before smiling.

"Okay, this is a bit more familiar." He leapt up onto the platform, looking down at the lot of them and one corner of his lip twisting upwards as he thought. "Right, we've got an hour in here, so fifteen minutes to go over the basics, and then you're going to pair off with people of the similar skill level and we'll take it in turns duelling up here for two minutes a piece, then a minute refectory time. Fifteen pairs, forty five minutes, that brings us to our hour of the week. Right, who can tell me the basics of a formal duel?"

Tom had no idea, he'd never really read into the basics of duelling before, they were suppose to cover it briefly in second year DADA, but now there was a whole subject on it. A whole subject with no textbook for him to study.

Of course, the few hands that did go up to offer an answer were pure-bloods. Harry pointed to the younger Nott sibling and then scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"You're name?"

"Cassius Nott." The more agreeable sibling. Harry gave a wave of his wand and then Nott was wearing a name badge, as were they all. Harry gave a shrug, explaining he wanted to remember their names and this was the easiest way to go about it, and he then casually asked Nott to carry on. One quick explanation into the basic polite gestures of a duel and then Harry was telling them to pair off. And Tom had no idea who could possibly offer him a challenge.

"Erm, would you like to work together?"

Twisting to look at the girl addressing him, Tom's brain was quick to place her. Faye Bonham, Gryffindor half-blood. Bright enough witch who excelled mostly in charms and transfiguration. Worst subjects being herbology and potions. Her spell repertoire should be enough to entertain him for a duel at least.

"It's be my pleasure," Tom mused, smiling lightly and watching as the raven haired girl blushed furiously. Clearly very shy, how she'd even approached him was a mystery. Harry, who was still stood on the newly dubbed 'battle-ground' stomped his foot twice before ordering for his wand to 'point me'. The tip landed on a Gryffindor duo.

"Okay, let's begin."

* * *

Deep within an unnamed bunker, hidden within a dense forest in the center of Poland, Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald sat upon his throne. In his right hand, twisting and twirling between his fingers, the Elder wand was spinning before him, was the seer and the wand-maker he'd had his most trusted right hand man track down.  
Both looked exceedingly nervous, the woman already in tears and sobbing lightly into the overly long sleeve of her dress-robes; Bernhard had tracked her down and stolen her from the party her family were hosting for her precious nephew. Thirteen had wound up dead.  
Not that Grindelwald took particular pride within this idea, but it was opposing pure-bloods gone. It could only help in the long run.

Turning to look at the wand maker, Gregorovitch, from whom he had stolen the Elder wand, Gellert smirked slightly. Oh yes, the old man certainly recognised him as the blond haired thief; through the power of dark magic he had yet to age a day in appearance.

And why would he? The handsome face of a twenty three year old wizard was perhaps one of the best weapons he had; no one expected the beautiful faced young man to be the mass murderer on the loose. Unless of course, you'd stolen from a wand-maker who'd clearly recognise your face and realise just who you were.

"Gregorovitch, I am certain you recognise the wand within my hand. I admit, it is perhaps the greatest wand I have ever held between my fingertips," looking down at the white haired man with startlingly cold blue eyes, Gellert Grindelwald twist it slightly and shot a rather dark curse towards one of his political prisoners. He was dead before he hit the floor.

"But as you can see, it's alliance no longer lies with me. Which I find startling. The Elder wand obeyed me every since I retrieved it from your loving hands," a sneer at this, and Gregorovitch flinched slightly at the tone, "up until mid June. At first, I just believed it to be a mistake; for I know for certain I have not yet been bested in any way. I only need you to confirm what I already suspect. Can you do that?"

No, Gregorovitch couldn't. His throat was closing up, unable to form the words. But he could sense it, could feel the magic of the wand refusing to bond with the man currently holding it, instead reaching outwards and away, in search of it's true master.

However, that seemed to be enough for Grindelwald, because with a sharp order of 'take him away', Gregorovitch was being dragged from the room.

.

Turning his cold blue eyes on the still sobbing seer, the Dark Lord offered up a cold grin which didn't reach his eyes.

"You my dear," he murmured, approaching her before resting to tip of the elder wand upon her straight, pure-blood nose, "are going to tell me where the master of the wand is. Right now."  
The woman's teary grey eyes widened, but it was already enough, for they had met Grindelwald's own.

He began tearing apart her mind, ruthless in his search for the information she without a doubt just gained. He wasn't careful this time, pulling apart some memories in his eagerness to get to the most recent one, the one the Elder wand would have triggered in such a sensitive person.

And there it was. A little blurry, the result of a vision forced upon someone by dark magic, but he couldn't care less.

The man was young looking. The image didn't give much away, a basic colouring and outline. Not enough detail to get much on the face But there were key points. Messy black hair, round spectacles perched upon a nose. And a scar, a strange, lightning bolt scar upon the forehead.

Such a distinct trait, that would make him much easier to find.

.

Pulling out of the seer's mind, who's name he did not care to remember, Grindelwald gestured for a henchman to take her away, summoning Bernhard as he did so.

"I have someone I need you to look for."

* * *

**Struggled a bit with this chapter, but I finally got the last bit just how I want it. So, erm, I hope you like it. **

**So, thank you for reading and reviewing,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


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